Heavy Handed

Born into a world where words are wasted. Actions never

speak at all. Quick is the cloak that's covered in smoke

to fill his pockets behind closed doors. Feasting on the

prayers of those who hope for a better tomorrow. Reality

check is now in effect, so wake up and smell the sorrow.

New York Wasteland, our secrets die with you. And we aint

goin nowhere, well sink where we stand. It's not hard to

believe, this world is not the place for me. I find it

hard to vent, when everyone around me seems content. Fuck

all you mothers of misery, beatin on your kids cause

there's nobody else to blame, and the gun-toting teen,

who took away the dreams of people just like him. Mad

world, I wont miss you on the day I fucking die. Sad

world, stronghold on the less than powerful. Man of the

cloth, you'll burn in Hell long before all of us. Man of

the cloth, you'll burn in Hell long before all of us.